It all started in third grade.
I used to be loud, charismatic, open. And then it happened. I was bullied. They would give those looks. Teased and called names. I could handle it. Then it got worse. I was bumped and pushed. I had scrapes and bruises on my legs from where they pushed me. On my arms from where they held me. On my stomach where they hit me. They were smart. They wouldn't hit me in the face so everyone can see. They would drag somewhere no one can hear me where no one will see.
I changed, drastically. I became quiet, aware, weak. I closed myself. The only "friends" I had were the new kids. They only hung out with me because they didn't know. No one did. I was beaten black and blue. I bled till I passed out but I woke up before anyone noticed, I didn't want to have it worse.
I have depression and Anxiety now. No one knows. I have it so bad I can't go to the doctor because my blood pressure gets too high and I can't leave until hours later. I can't go outside without feeling insecure. I try my best to not show it. I don't want anyone to know. They just can't. I hate it. I dont understand. I can still her myself screaming. Crying. I can hear them hurting me. Teasing me. Bullying. I can hear the small cheers in the background. Not wanting to be to loud because they don't want to get caught. My grades just got lower and lower. I couldn't do much work with out having a panic attack without thinking the pain I'm going to feel tomorrow at school. I still throw up when I think about what they did to me. I still cry in the shower where no one can here me. I still cry myself to sleep. I still wake up in the middle of the night because I can't sleep.
I was no longer the girl I was, it all changed when I was seven. Seven. I learned to be an adult too soon. At seven I knew how to clean up wounds. I knew how to cover up scars with my mother's makeup. I knew how to match my skin tone using aloe vera lotion. I knew too many things I wasn't suppose to know yet. I've seen things I shouldn't. I've done things I wish I hadn't. I've been through the pain no one should ever know.
When I was Seven.
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Historia CortaYesterday he said your name and told you he loved you. He gave you a kiss on your lips and told you you're perfect. Today he said your name and told you he hates you. He slapped your cheek and told you you're worthless. You cry and scream. You hate...
